9 comments:

What's interesting about your form of poetry or rather this one specifically is its diction...it borders on a coarseness that goes with jazz and the whole sunset strip image and made for intelligent reading

This is an eclectic form of candor. I will come back to read as time will allow me and am looking forward to the experience. There is a lot of bruised merchandise here but we see this on the street every day - I am interested in your moments of compassion and the very nature of it. Thanks for visiting my blog and your kind comments. We each share our souls, for that I thank you.

Thanks for visiting my blog. Today's poem, for reasons of both substance and form, I recommend you lose the fifth stanza.

I really enjoyed "Fruit Stand," wonderful, especially the trope of the hand's signature on fruit resembling a hand mark on blanched skin. Thanks for visiting my blog. I try to link to those who do, am thus linking to yours. All the best, CE.

I am so glad that you visited my blog, and I have truly been enjoying yours. I especially loved "When it Rained." My favorite lines were: "...a bad complexion that began at the bone," "...warming cold regret with Mastercard and Jack," and "...you can roll a decent joint in Tampax sleeves."

You have an interesting perspective on the world, and it comes through in this kind of vivid imagery.

I am new to blogging, so I am not sure of the etiquette yet: Could I link your blog to mine? Not only have I enjoyed your words and pictures, but I would like to visit some of the other sites that you have listed (I've already been to "The Liberal Forum," and will probably add it to my blog).

oooooo! i love this! "if you can make a saxophone cry you'll never be alone" that blew the top of my head off ... zounds! i love stories about the world's beautiful losers and all the pain wrapped into song.

GRIND IT UP AND SPIT IT OUT, THEY SAID

Eat Your Words

"I know we're not saints or virgins or lunatics; we know all the lust and lavatory jokes, and most of the dirty people; we can catch buses and count our change and cross the roads and talk real sentences. But our innocence goes awfully deep, and our discreditable secret is that we don't know anything at all, and our horrid inner secret is that we don't care that we don't."— Dylan Thomas